Another exciting night fighting with a dog dish. . . Roy sighed, breath ghosting out visibly in the chill air of the warehouse. His palm hit the surface of the water with a wet slapping sound. He could feel the Hood's presence, pacing leisurely back and forth behind him even if he couldn't hear his footfalls.

He slapped the water again. It was the only sound in the warehouse. His shoulders slumped even further. He felt like he was in school again, serving detention with a teacher. "How long am I supposed to do this thing?"

"I did it for a week," the vigilante growled in that synthesized voice of his, "and I never whined as much as you did."

Ignoring for a moment his disbelief at the idea of the deadly Arrow being reduced to slapping water like a beginner, Roy pounced on the implied information like a starving paparazzi journalist. "But you did whine about it!"

"I did," he replied easily, not a hint of chagrin in his voice. He even sounded a tinge amused. Is he smiling behind my back?

"Something funny?" Roy paused in his slapping. There was no answer, but Roy could feel the smirk in the air, coming from the Hood's direction and it dawned on him. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he accused, twisting around to face the other man. "Watching me squirm in boredom while I slap the crap out of this stupid, fucking bowl of water?"

Roy was right. The Arrow was smirking at him in what looked like genuine amusement. "It's my turn to inflict that punishing training technique on someone else." He shrugged his green-clad shoulders and threw up his arms in a what can you do? gesture. "It's a tradition."

Okay, Roy was curious. But he didn't dare ask. Or did he? Didn't the Arrow say he was going to be more open? Or was that a one time deal? He stared at the water bowl, smacking his palm on the surface of the water on autopilot as he weighed his chances.

"Was it that Slade guy?" The words were out before he could stop them. "Who- who had you slapping water for a week? To build arm strength?" Wasn't he still weighing his chances? Well, shit. Too late now.

Behind him, Roy sensed more than heard the pacing halt. Then the man was walking into his line of vision, his hooded head tilted down as always, but now there was a solemn air about the line of his head and the subtle slope of his shoulders. Roy suddenly felt like an ass for asking, though he wasn't quite sure why. "You don't," he started awkwardly, "have to answer if, you know, you . . . um . . . don't want to." Roy resisted the urge to slap himself in the face. Stammer much?

"The exercise was practiced by Shaolin monks to increase their striking strength," the vigilante explained, ignoring the first question. "We both know you don't really need to increase your striking power but I was hoping the exercise would train your mental and physical control. I realize now that it might be a bit too much for you to start with."

Roy frowned.

"Perhaps we should take a break and do something easier," the Arrow continued.

Roy stared, frozen in incredulity. "Do I even want to know what you think is 'easier' than this?"

"Don't worry," the corner of the man's mouth lifted in another tiny smile- they were appearing with alarming frequency nowadays ever since that night- "you'll like it." The Arrow turned on his heel and strode towards the open doors of the warehouse, the harsh lights from outside silhouetting his form in darkness for a brief moment. "Come with me," he grumbled. "Leave the dog dish."

Intrigued as all hell, Roy followed the man outside, the familiar stink of rotting fish and cargo ship fuel hitting his nose at the same time as a gust of damp, cold air nipped at his exposed face and hands. The Arrow led him away from the docks; weaving in and out of brightly lit streets and dark little alleys in the distinct direction of another one of Queen Consolidated's abandoned warehouses in the Glades, though this one was transformed by Oliver Queen into the newest hotspot of nightlife.

"Are we going where I think we're going?" he asked, staring at the green fletched quiver of arrows on the equally green back. Why green? he wondered briefly, but had the common sense to keep that thought to himself- for now.

"The backstreets and alleys around Verdant, yes," the Arrow answered as he paused just inside the shadow of a dilapidated building and then somehow melted his way into the darkened corners of the next street.

Roy rolled his eyes and hurried to catch up, just barely managing to make out the distinct shape of the man's quiver and bow in the darkness.

"As to why," the Arrow turned to him as they reached the alley behind the club where Roy dumped the club's garbage and recyclables, "I find this area makes a nice playground."

Roy raised his eyebrows at the word choice. Play?

Before he could ask the vigilante to elaborate, the man was running up the side of the building, propelling himself with nothing but inertia and expert hand and footholds. His jaw fell open a little. This was what he had in mind?

Roy grinned as he craned his neck to watch the figure scale the wall like it was a horizontal children's obstacle course. The Arrow was right, this was a lot easier than slapping water out of a bowl!

Above him, Roy made out the outline of the Arrow as he reached a broken off pipe segment jutting out of the wall, roughly three stories above ground. In a series of smooth, lightning-quick moves, he levered himself up on it with one hand until his torso cleared the pipe, planted a boot on the same pipe, and with a leap, knees tucked into his body, he was crouched on a fire escape rail, as still as a carved gargoyle. The whole climb had taken less than two minutes, though he could tell that the Arrow was deliberately taking it slow for his sake.

The man looked down at Roy from his perch, his hood betraying the angle of his head. He wasn't quite radiating smugness but Roy could still read a subtle challenge when he saw one. Before the Arrow could say the familiar "Now, you" line that Roy kind of hated by now because it preceded every stupid training exercise he'd had to do the past few days, Roy sprang into action. I'll show him. This is nothing. I do this for fun all the time. Okay, maybe mostly to get away, but still. . .

Taking a running leap, Roy ran up the wall, boosting himself the first few feet from sheer momentum. His fingers scrabbled for the nearest handhold a few inches to the left above his head. He managed to catch himself on it just before his momentum began to slow and his body succumbed to gravity. Without pausing to think or to catch his breath, Roy trusted in his instinctive connection to his physical surroundings and, planting a foot flat on the wall, heaved and pushed himself up.

For a heart stopping fraction of a second, he was running up the vertical surface without anything to grasp onto, and then he was wedged between the wall and the edge of a wood plank and steel scaffolding that was being used to repair the windows on the third floor. He grasped a metal bar and swung himself through the scaffolding using the construct like a set of monkey bars. Reaching the end, he swung forward to land on the ledge of an open window, close to the railing where the Arrow was crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet and watching him quietly.

Roy resisted the urge to flop onto his butt as he landed. His muscles would have been burning from the strain by now, before the Mirakuru; instead he felt only breathless as he looked down at the ground, far below him, and remembered that brief moment of danger when he'd let go of all supports in order to fly up the last few feet of wall. He flashed a grin at the ground, at the wall, and then at the vigilante as he tried to take slow, deep breaths, feeling his heartbeat slow to just above the regular pace- his normal pace now.

His grin disappeared as the Arrow vaulted up from the railing and vanished into the spot of darkness above, reappearing a second later under the flickering illumination of the streetlamp, several feet away and swinging towards the adjacent building. He took a moment to stare after the disappearing figure, face slack with surprise. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. So that's how he wants to play it, huh? Roy leapt to his feet, and with a crack of his neck, shoulder and finger joints, followed after the Arrow. . . a tad more slowly. Just a tad.

I can do this all night.

Next Chapter: "Worth"